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Vespucci Account
Most of what is known about the Isle of Dread is taken from the journal of Emilio Vespucci, the captain of the Valegonian trading ship White Countess. Text of the Account "When the gale finally ended, we found ourselves blown south and countless days off course, floating adrift in the warm equatorial waters of the Cacao Sea without hope of speedy return to Valegone. Our destination remained the jungles of the Amedio, but I knew the White Countess would never survive the crossing now, not without re-provisioning and modest repairs. In this condition, she might never make it home at all. I ordered young Atiro into the crow's nest with my best spyglass and made west by northwest, hoping that dry land would not be far. "On the third day - by Procan - our prayers were answered. A chain of islands unmarked on any chart began to appear on the horizon to the west. Perhaps these were the Pirate Isles of which I had been warned. We made sail for the closest and within a small bay we encountered a modest village of thatched huts. The natives were friendly, if a bit wary. Their dark-hued skin and exotic features related them to the Olman of the Amedio. After some persuasion, they were willing to trade food and supplies for weapons and tools of steel. Alas, lumber to repair the Countess was not to be found. I inquired about the surrounding islands, but the village chieftain seemed determined to warn off their exploration. He attempted to frighten my men with tales of 'unholy enemies' and 'curses'. Indeed, he made me swear to avoid sailing due west into the heart of the archipelago before his men would even let me set foot in the last launch back to the ship! "I bade my host farewell, knowing in my heart that an oath to a savage could not bind a Dardonadan gentleman, and ordered my men to weigh anchor and set sail for the larger islands to the west. We encountered numerous villages populated by the same Olman folk, but many of these tribes were hostile and warlike. Some attacked my men on sight, and I daresay we uncovered plentiful evidence of cannibalism. The crew is primarily sailors, not warriors or adventurers, and I lost many of them to rapacious savages without profiting our situation any. I began to lose heart as we progressed through the isles, for my calculations increasingly suggested that we were farther south than any Feronian chart had ever recorded, perhaps as far as the legendary Bay of Stars. "Finally, two weeks after entering the archipelago and upon the feast of Saint Dickenson, we spied a vast isle that spanned the horizon, crowned by a central plateau shrouded in fog and surrounded by a lush jungle that ran to steep cliffs in almost all directions. Our approach (fortuitously, I would later discover) was from the southeast, where a lowland peninsula reached out to divide the nearby waters. We eschewed the smaller islands nearby and sailed straight for it. The peninsula was cut off from the main island by a neck of land and, as we sailed nearer, I was shocked to discover that the latter was warded off from the former by a massive, well-built wall of stone! "I personally led the shore party, so excited was I by this hint of civilisation. We went well armed and prepared for anything. Upon landing, I named the island after Saint Dickenson, in honour of his feast day. After we hiked the distance to the aedifice, to my chagrin we discovered that the inner side of the wall sheltered yet another village of primitive Olman natives. I studied the wall, which was indeed man made and quite impressive, undoubtedly the work of hundreds, if not thousands of men. These natives were friendly and (most unusually for their primitive kind!) a woman led them. They told us that their settlement was called 'Tanaroa'. However, the name they gave to the vast island that was their home intrigued me more - the Isle of Dread. "As we spent time with the Tanaroans that day, we learned that the massive wall that separated their peninsula from the rest of the island was built by ancients whom they called 'the gods'. According to the villagers, these 'gods' supposedly built a city atop the island's central plateau. The pervasive fogs surrounding those highlands prevented my spyglass from confirming this claim; only a direct inspection would suffice. However, as I began to learn more about their culture and traditions, I began to increasingly suspect that these 'gods' of which they spoke were their ancestors, a people who possessed a more advanced culture than anything in evidence now. Could this once have been the ancient golden city, the El Dorado of legend? I was tantalised. "My excitement grew as I listened to the Tanaroans regale us with tales of treasure beyond imagining, including a great black 'pearl of the gods' that was the symbol of the dominion of this city. Clearly, these people were quite proud of their heritage. The waters surrounding the archipelago abound with prodigious oyster beds, so these folk tales are not without foundation. I inquired about the inhabitants of the rest of the isle and at that the Tanaroans grew silent. A roar that, I confess, made hairs stand on end soon pierced the silence. I had never heard anything like it. "My men and I ran to the wall, attempting to see what made the cry. At this, the Tanaroans attempted to stop us, their hysterical jabbering included talk of 'demons' and great beasts that could devour a man whole. They spoke of a curse upon the ancient ruins and the jungle, placed by the 'gods' before they departed. Only a large and well-armed party of warriors could be allowed beyond the Great Wall. While dubious, I could not doubt the ferocity of the beast that made that cry and, given the poor state of my crew, could not in good conscience risk their lives to it. "I ordered them back to the ship and bade farewell to the Tanaroans, granting their matriarch such gifts as I could spare to win her future good will. The next time, I shall return from Valegone with an expedition worthy of the endeavour of exploring this land. Before departing, however, I was determined to sail around the Isle and its rocky coastline, making as detailed markings of its features as I could. The work was painstaking, made more difficult by a suddenly-rising fog that seemed to pour from the plateau into the surrounding jungle at dusk. Our task nearly complete, we sailed past a cove on the northern side of the island where, I confess, I was shocked to spy the wreck of an Old World sailing ship in the shoals. This was no Olman outrigger! From its broken hull emerged a prow carved in the likeness of a rampant lion and I noted that the dilapidated rigging was decades, perhaps centuries out of date. My curiosity got the better of me and I ordered the men to lower anchor, and despite their misgivings, I told the crew we were staying the night. In the morning, we would attempt to salvage the wreck. "I wish I had never ordered the stay, as the events of those next few hours haunt me still. I recall that it was the piercing cry of the young Atiro that awoke me that night. Creatures... I scarcely know what to call them, had attacked the ship. Before I could reach the deck, they had made away with the entire watch of eight men, more than a third of the crew without a fight! As for an account of the events, I could only rely on the shaken boy who witnessed it best from the crow's nest: fiendish, manlike beasts rose from the waters surrounding the White Countess. They had smooth heads, large eyes, and tentacled, sphinctered mouths. The men of the watch appeared entranced by the creatures and leapt into the see to their deaths untouched. I was horrified. We, the survivors, sailed away immediately as if our lives depended on it... This 'Isle of Dread' had earned its name in my eyes." Category:History Category:Isle of Dread